


Free To Be You And Me (DISCONTINUED)

by double0dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/double0dean/pseuds/double0dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU: Dean Winchester, District 12, and Castiel Novak, District 1, are invited to participate in the annual festival of the Hunger Games. Will they give up everything for freedom, or for love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Silence hung in the air like a dirty wet rag, squeezing his chest and his feet and his legs and his fingers."

Today was the day everyone had been waiting for.

Well, mostly everyone. Being the mayor's son, the Games were only a necessity and Castiel was completely indifferent to it. He would sit in front of the television with his siblings, listening to them squabble over who they thought would win.

By that, he meant he would sit on the chair farthest away from everyone else while Gabriel poked and prodded Michael and Balthazar, often making bets on who would win. Gabriel was extremely taken by the Games, rooting for some players and making obscene gestures at others through the screen as though they could possibly know what he was doing or saying.

Michael, the oldest, would only interfere when Gabriel got too rambunctious. Balthazar would join in when Gabriel riled him up, and on more than one occasion, Castiel would have to warn them and tell them to act in a more respectful manner, which would only result in more obscene hand gestures.

Today was the Reaping. It wasn't as bad as it sounded, not in his personal opinion. District 1 was the richest of the districts, famous for their luxurious items and close relationship with the Capitol. Their district took pride in the Games, and most children of acceptable strength and morale were trained to enter. They never once had a reaping in Castiel's short lifetime, 17 years to be exact, in which there were no volunteers. If a child wasn't trained, it didn't matter whether or not they were Reaped, because someone always volunteered. That was just how it went.

Of course, never before has anyone in the mayor's family been Reaped, either. They were the richest family in the richest district, and so the Hunger Games were merely an annual sport. A very, very important sport, but nothing the mayor's family would participate in except to put a singular mandatory name in with the others.

Currently, his family, which consisted of his brothers, his father, and himself, was crowded in with every other person in the district. Men in white uniforms stood guard, the lights beaming down on their suits and making them look almost holy. They had no real purpose, as nobody caused any actual trouble. The large space in the very center of the district was filled to the brim with people, all sharing an intense energy of anticipation.

The crowd was split by gender down the middle, which didn't matter much to Castiel, because his family only consisted of males. He didn't search the sea of faces for anybody he recognised, he never did and never had to. Truth be told, Castiel didn't socialise outside of the family boundaries. Being the mayor's son, he was homeschooled, and never made an attempt to make friends. He simply wasn't interested. He spent most of his time reading, whether it was inside or in his yard or in the street or in the park. If he wasn't reading, he was doing schoolwork, or following his father's orders.

His father, being the mayor of District 1, wasn't home a lot, as he spent his days with higher ups, doing district business, which Castiel hoped one day to become involved in.

Today would be a good day to read outside. The sky was a light gray, with the sun's rays burning through the clouds to cast her warm light upon their little world. He could have sat on a park bench and read of old poets, a subject he had just now decided to look into, if it weren't for the special occasion.

In front of the crowd was a very large mobile stage, with two sets of steps leading up to it on either side. Nothing could be heard over the talking, not the brightly coloured birds or the ridiculously tall purple heels that trotted their way onstage. A finger tapped a microphone, and a small cough blasted through the speakers. Everything went quiet.

The woman on stage would have been short if it weren't for her heels. Her face was a snowy white, and her lips matched the colour of her pointy, dangerous shoes.

The speech was the same, as was the video created by the Capitol, bringing the same cheers and hollers from the crowd. Castiel stood patiently through it all, wondering if he would be home early enough to finish his book. It was a biography on Edgar Allan Poe.

The first girl to be picked was a small one who couldn't have been older than 14. Before she could even move from her spot, a loud volunteer was shouted proudly into the air. The shout belonged to that of a fit blonde girl, with strong looking arms and small eyes.

Next came the boys.

The woman's slender fingers dipped gracefully into the overflowing amount of folded up name slips. As she fished, the suspension in the air thickened and thickened, making his fingers twitch in impatience.

She clutched one delicate looking piece, holding it above her head slightly. Squinting her eyes, she opened her mouth to speak. Thank goodness, this would be over soon.

"Castiel Novak."

Her voice sprang to his ears. His squirming insides froze.

He froze.

No, this couldn't be. His name was only in there once, while others submitted into the Games close to a hundred times.

"I-" a suggested volunteer rose from the back of the crowd which suddenly looked like a vicious mob. The voice did not finish their statement. Every single eye bore through him. He did not move.

Why was nobody volunteering?

Silence hung in the air like a dirty wet rag, squeezing his chest and his feet and his legs and his fingers.

"... Castiel Novak." It sounded more like a screech than a call.

Someone pushed him gently from behind, and he didn't look around to see who it was.

People moved out of the way to make a clear path for him, for Castiel Novak, straight towards that suddenly menacing platform.

The push turned into a shove, and he stumbled through the crowd, blood draining from his face with each step. His legs felt weak.

He was the mayor's son. The only tutoring he's had was in mathematics and science. This wasn't right.

A hand that felt more like a claw rested firmly on his shoulder. Castiel stared through the jumble of people, searching their faces for the very first time, trying to find some solace, some comfort.

Nobody said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter 1! Please be sure to leave comments or reviews on what you'd like to see, what you liked, what you didn't like, etc. This is my first fic, so I'm sorry if it's a little shakey! The story won't only be told through Castiel's POV, so next chapter will be a different Reaping. Very, very different.
> 
> I'm really excited and I hope you like this! xx


	2. Of Course I Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything was quieter when you were the one being sent to your death."

His blood ran cold in his veins, like someone had injected him with water from the bottom of the world.

At first, he couldn't move. It had to be some sort of mistake, surely. After all, he's put the name "Dean Winchester" in for the Reaping more than anyone else in the District.

But that wasn't the name that was called, and he would have been alright with that, if it hadn't been...

"Sam Winchester".

Her voice echoed in through his bones, pounded at his brain, froze his fingers.

That was his brother.

There was a mumble in the crowd.

It was exactly a second and a half later, after he pieced together that this was very very real, after Sam was already being pushed towards the stairs, that he walked forward, ran forward, pushed his brother behind him and let the words shake through his lungs and out of his throat.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

He didn't know it was possible that the crowd could be any more hushed.

Everybody knew the Winchesters. Not for any big particular reason, they just knew.

They knew that their house went up in flames all those years ago. They knew of their mother's death. They knew that when their roof burned and crashed to the ground, something in their family did, too.

Nobody knew what went on at home, what actually happened. But there were rumours. There were always rumours.

It wasn't like he cared. Yeah, sometimes it pissed him off that people talked about him and his brother and his home, like they knew him or something, when they didn't know shit. But he didn't care.

They knew that he would do anything for his brother.

He didn't know what he expected, but the way the mass stared through his skin just irked him.

They were as silent as the moon.

That irked him, too.

Everything was quieter when you were the one being sent to your death.

Sam looked down right horrified, which wasn't making this any easier. "Dean, no," the wind carried his plea away, whipping back their hair and their clothes and the dirty shoelaces on Sam's old shoes.

Dean turned his back on him, attempting to conceal any emotion that might appear on his face. He was sure he was doing a shit job, because there was no way he could relax his shoulders, no way he could battle the anger and confusion and shock, the whirlwind of ferocious things going on in his head.

He climbed up the shiny, obtrusive stairs onto the shiny, obtrusive stage. He stared at the sky right above the District's heads, stared at the grey horizon, unable to look anywhere else in fear of breaking that stony cold mask he plastered on his face.

He tried not to think of Sam's tears as he was ripped away from him by the men in the white uniforms.

+=+

"Sammy, it's okay, Sammy, hey," he had whispered in that little room. "Bobby'll take care of you. You're a big kid, Sam, you'll be okay." His hands ran through his little brother's hair, he held him tight. They clung to each other.

"Dean, please win," the kid had choked into his chest. "Please... Please come home, please..."

"Hey..." His heart was breaking more and more every second they stood there. It ached next to his lungs, it cried into his veins. It infected him, poisoned him.

"No, you... you can win, okay? You're... you'll win. Say you'll come home."

"Of course I will." There was no truth in his words. They never won.

"Of course I will, Sammy. I'll come home. It's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Please leave a comment with any advice or thoughts. I'd love to know what you thought of it, if there's anything I can improve on, and what you'd like to see later on! Each review encourages me to write more and I appreciate every one! xx


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